One discovery I have made about myself surprised me, but I don´t think it will surprise anyone who knows me well.  That is, yo soy borrato.  I am cheap.

Since arriving in Santander, I have eaten at the bus station croissanteria three times, though to be fair I have sat waiting at the bus station during eating hours twice, and I arrived in town there. Plus, it is just across the street from my hostel, and the breakfast pastries are not bad.  Ok, the food is not that great, and I just spent the last entry chastising myself for trading quality for convenience at Burger King.  Maybe I´m just cheap. I got my last check from my old job on Friday, and I´m feeling this new, weird combination of freedom and uneasiness about no longer having an income. 

Trust!  And faith!  I hear my Mom saying, "Everything will work out."

I saved for months, and I have plenty of funds for this trip.  But I was surprised about eating cheap food because I prize a good, not to mention chic, restaurant.  I raved about La Musa and had no qualms spending over my budget there.  Actually, I have no budget, other than a fuzzy round number for the whole trip.  Again, convenience and ease are sirens in the pitch of sometimes dizzying dissonance.  Put a better way, not knowing where I am or the language, people, and customs, has so far been exotic and a fun challenge to navigate.  But now that the novelty is wearing off, I´m both craving and avoiding the familiar.

For example, I avoided coming to this internet cafe for awhile.  True, I´m borrato and don´t want to pay for the internet.  But it´s also because I want a bit of freedom away from the tether of home and staying in touch.  I want to give myself a few days to float on the waves of  "somewhere else", buoyed and moved by the tide of something I don´t fully know.

Lost? No. Adift? Yes. It´s a primal feeling probably like the child I saw today in the cathedral plaza as I sat with my morning tea and cheap pastry from the bus station. A little boy of 2 or 3 broke away from his mother and ran gasping for the stone stairs to the church, to climb to an unknown place beyond his sight, which must have seemed absolutley alluring gauging by his joy.  But then he did something all children do.  He looked back to reassure himself that his mother was there and that it was both ok and safe to try something new.

I think of it like a tether ball.  Being anchored gives you the freedom to swing as wide and as fast as you can.  But if the anchor snaps, the ball flies off and gets lost.  I´m not trying to get away from an anchor.  I´m just trying to feel what it is like to be a human being somewhere else, like on Santander buses. A human being who has chosen to feel his way through new places, to experience a different either, and, thus, to experience himself in a new way.  Swinging the ball wide, and perhaps loosening the tether a bit.

Now it´s 9:15pm, and it´s time to amble toward dinner...at a real restaurant which I hope is worth every dollar I spend over my budget.

Saturday:  Arrived in Madrid, lunched with Strother at her place (jamon serrano, cheese, olives, and soup), walked around the neighborhood, Basque tapas for dinner, chocolate and churros at San Gines, bed at 3am.

Sunday:  Slept till 2pm, the Prado museum (gratis!) for a few hours, drink in Barrio de las Letras, dinner in La Latina at La Musa (I highly recommend this place), chocolate and churros...again...at San Gines, bed at 2am.

Today:  Slept till 10:30am (improvement!), Madrid adventure: took the bus to the spectacular post office and mailed some clothes back to London since they are too heavy to carry on the Camino, amazing leisurely walk through Retiro park, down to Atocha, over to Lavapies, back to La Latina, cut through Plaza Mayor, took a break for a cerveza (una cana) at Plaza Santa Ana where I saw the statue of Lorca, after it started to rain I took a quick jaunt through Chueca (saw a $105 swimsuit I wanted but declined), and now back at Strother's for down time and laundry before dinner.  Tomorrow:  Flight to Santander.

I'm sure the springtime (la primavera) is beautiful anywhere, but it was especially gorgeous today.  Being outside a lot I'm more aware of the temperature and small things, like when the sun is covered by clouds or the wind picks up. The feeling of spring can swing from perfect cool to cold to hot in seconds depending on the sun and the wind, so I was grateful for the 4 layers I was wearing, including a rain jacket which I used at Plaza Santa Ana. I was sitting at the outdoor cafe and pondering the statue of Lorca in the old theater district.  After finishing 2/3 of my beer and water, the sprinkles turned into drops, leading everyone to bolt. But I just put my rain jacket on and waited out the 5 minutes of rain.  Then the sun reappeared, and so did the spectacular Madrid spring weather.

Today was a walking tour of the different neighborhoods of Madrid.  Strother lives in Chamberi, beautiful and classy, pero es relleno con muy viejas. After wandering through the huge park, Retiro, I walked past the Atocha train station and up to Lavapies, home of mostly north African, Indian, Asian, and some Latin American immigrants. This neighborhood is poor, a tad run down, and slightly dingy, but I was struck by how beautiful the architecture is under a layer of soot. It just needs a power wash and a fresh coat of paint. I saw a bit of gentrification but mostly signs saying "for sale" and lots of young men sitting in plazas (unemployment is high).  I was very drawn to this neighborhood, and you'll see tons of pics from Lavapies on my Facebook. La Latina is the cool, chic, young neighborhood, and Chueca is the grittier but gentrified gay neighborhood which borders Malasana, which I also popped into, which is probably akin to Logan Circle in DC but a bit more high-end.

Since I left the apartment late today, I wasn't really hungry until about 3:30pm, when I was by the train station.  In that part of town there is nothing but touristy cafeterias and a few American chains like KFC and Burger King.  Channeling my time with Jason Kello to Prague, I really wanted KFC, but it was across a large street, and I was determined to eat local.  But then the BK was so conveniently close and cheap and a guarantee of what I would get for my 5 euros. So I darted in, as if someone would catch me, stepped up to the counter, ordered a Numero Uno Whopper combo, and dropped into a small table in the front to people watch.  As I ate a mediocre meal and watched Spaniards go in and out, I wondered why someone would trade quality for convenience.  Madrilenos, like a lot of other Europeans, flock to American chains because they are unique institutions in their country, as well as for my reasons).  But why did I stop there?

I wanted something familiar and quick, but I also wanted something...impersonal.  I didn't want to fumble through a strange menu and order in halting, slightly illegitimate Spanish. I just wanted a meal where I could point to a picture on the wall and sit down in anonymity, eat quickly, and be on my way.  True, for fries, I would cut my arm off, but the burger was bland and sloppy (who eats burgers with mayo, ketchup, and bulky iceburg lettuce?).  So I wondered as I sat half-pleased, half-disappointed, why convenience and anonymity were more alluring than taste or time.

Maybe it was being alone, and I didn't want to be reminded of that.  Maybe efficiency is too ingrained in me as an American, where dining is often seen as a task more than an event. I know many people who get up from the meal as soon as it's over! :)  Maybe I was too excited about seeing more of the city, so I wanted something quick and easy.  All true. But a big part of it was wanting anonymity.  I didn't want to feel like a stranger anymore; I wanted to feel at home.  And like it or lump it, Burger King did just the trick, too well in fact.  I darted out of BK as fast as I could but then spent an hour wandering through immigrant territory, fantasizing about moving to a place where I am the foreigner. 

Enough for this long entry, with no great epiphany or insight.  Just a beautiful, magnificent day in the beautiful, interesting neighborhoods of Madrid, with one anomalous (?) stop for a burger, fries, and a Diet Coke, or Coke Light as the Europeans more deftly say.  Now that makes my order slightly more palatable.